"That's enough!" Graves's voice crackles through the intercom, echoing off the concrete walls.
Logan freezes, his hand suspended in midair. His jaw tightens, muscles working beneath his skin as he slowly straightens, never breaking eye contact with Naomi.
"We'll continue this later," he promises softly, the words meant for her alone. "When there are no interruptions."
As he turns toward the door, Logan catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the two-way mirror. For a fleeting moment, he doesn't recognize himself, and the sensation is so disorienting that he has to force himself to keep walking, to maintain the predatory confidence in his gait.
The observation room is dimly lit, a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescents of the interrogation chamber. Logan stands rigid as Graves paces before him. The air between them crackles with tension, but Logan's face remains impassive as she tears into him.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Graves says in a tone of cold fury. "Crossing into Mexico without authorization? Causing cartel casualties?" She stops directly in front of him, her height forcing her to look up, but her power in no way diminished. "You could have caused an international incident and jeopardized everything I’m trying to do."
Logan's jaw tightens, the only visible sign of his contempt. He finds her outrage almost comical. Hypocritical at best,delusional at worst.
"You wanted me to find her," he says flatly. "I did."
Graves's expression shifts, the anger giving way to something more calculated. A smile creeps across her face.
"Yes. Because this became personal. Because of Walker." She lets the name hang in the air between them, watching its effect. "And your repeated failure."
The words burn through Logan's carefully constructed indifference. His eyes flash with momentary rage. Graves catches it. She's struck a nerve, and they both know it.
"Walker was an unexpected complication," Logan says, his voice carefully controlled.
"A complication you failed to handle. Twice."
Logan says nothing. Walker would go through hell to get to Naomi. Graves has forgotten what they are. But she won’t be able to stop Walker without Logan’s help.
Graves seems to interpret his silence as weakness and presses her advantage.
“You’re done here. I have her. And I no longer need you.”
“The hell you don’t,” Logan sneers. “He’ll come for her. You can’t stop him without my help.”
“We’ll see. My guess is the cartel has already taken him out. But if he’s alive, I don’t need you to kill him.” Graves turns to go but stops at the door. “I suggest you leave. Before I have you thrown out.”
Logan’s hands clench. But there’s still the ghost of a smile on his lips. That bitch in the cage was right about one thing.
Walker is coming for her.
And regardless of what Graves says, Logan will be ready.
Twenty-Eight
My eyes snap open to blinding sunlight. The throbbing pain in my arm and leg hits first, then a vicious, pounding ache in my head that makes my vision swim. I've gotten used to waking up in the bungalow. Naomi and the Mexican morning sun make it glow. But now it's transformed. Blood-stained walls and what I think is the setting sun make the inside walls as red as hell.
I pull myself up against the wall, biting back a scream as my wounds protest and the shattered glass covering the ground scrapes my hands. The cartel men lie exactly where they fell.
But Naomi is gone.
I failed her.
My eyes drift to the little stove where she stood just hours ago, cooking breakfast in my shirt. The table where we'd shared meals, made plans, and laughed. The damn bed where I'd held her, thinking I could keep the world at bay with nothing but my arms.
What a fucking lie.
We were playing house. Playing at being a normal couple with normal problems. I should've known better. Men like me don't get happy endings. We don't get to walk away from what we've done.
I drag myself toward my pack, leaving a smear of blood behind me. Every inch is agony, but I've felt worse. Physical pain is nothing compared to the hollow space in my chest.
